


His Nanny

by moonlite



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Family Issues, I just wanted to indulge myself but here have this, Other, fanfic for a fanwork, it has angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlite/pseuds/moonlite
Summary: Different times in the life of Warlock Dowling and the people in his life.
Relationships: Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling, Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	1. Dowling household

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragon_Boi_12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Boi_12/gifts).
  * Inspired by [My Nanny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22796347) by [Dragon_Boi_12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Boi_12/pseuds/Dragon_Boi_12). 



> If you have already read Dragon_Boi_12's 'My Nanny' then you know that this is about Warlock and his nanny Ashtoreth.
> 
> Since that poem recounts what Warlock remembers of his nanny, I took the liberty to retell the story instead, the way I imagined it the first time I read their work. 
> 
> However, it got out of hand. 
> 
> Instead of focusing on the scenes from the poem, I took too much of that liberty and ran away with it and here we are. I just hope Dragon_Boi_12 can forgive me, to be honest.

“Get out!”

A booming voice echoed throughout the household, the maids frowned and even the butler looked up from what he was doing. This is not so unusual as the household gets a little rowdy whenever the head of the family comes home.

Everyone in the house knows that the family is not faring well. They are held only by their duty to their country as representatives and without that, none of them would be in the same space.

Especially the father and the son.

What is unusual is the quiet that followed. Warlock is one to always answer his father and makes sure to always get the last word in. Or at least answer in the same loudness he was treated. But that day, they heard no sound.

The butler stopped what he was doing to get the kettle boiling and make sure to get the tea in piping hot before Thaddeus calls for him. This way they can all avoid a drunk master. When he got into the living room, the man was sitting on the couch, a resigned look on his face. Harriet was just staring at him and him everywhere but her.

“Mr. Williams,” Harriet spoke, eyes still trained on her husband “Kindly prepare the guest room furthest from the master’s bedroom after you serve Mr. Dowling his tea.” Williams, the butler, nodded and made himself scarce, shushing the maids who asked him what happened. Of course, he had a clue but he’ll never assume.

Warlock just finished packing his bag when Harriet came into the room with a worn out look. “I’m sorry about him,”

“You aren’t his keeper. You need not apologize for his actions,” Warlock smiled. He and his mom - they never really got along as well as Harriet wanted or as Warlock wanted. They always had some sort of distance between them but a civil, almost friendly, sort of understanding. Warlock kept to himself and his studies, Harriet to her duties. If they ever sought each other out, it was always a diplomatic conversation about solving the issue. 

“But I am your mother.”

“You are my mother in name, Harriet. But you’ll always be an ambassador’s wife first,” Warlock smiles, closing his bag and facing her. “What are your plans now?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out. I’m destined for great things after all,” Warlock smiled and welcomed the hug his mother gave him.

When Warlock left the house that day, his mom saw him to the gate together with some of the maids he grew up knowing. It wasn’t as dramatic as movies would make you believe. There was no rain, no tears, no lingering feelings of regret, pain, or longing. It was just like anything in the world - he’s just walking out that door. Ms. Grace told him to write or at least never forget to let them know how he is. Mrs. Dorner may have cried a bit but it’s because she felt pride that Warlock is now going to find his footing in the world knowing that desolating that can be from her own experience. Mrs. Thelma looked at him as she has always done - with a bit of disdain but now colored with a bit of confusion and pride and worry.

“Please take care of my mom,” he said, looking at the three of them, pleading with no words. “She’s your baby now.”

“Yes, young master,” the three nodded and they all looked at Harriet who frowned before hugging Warlock one last time, hiding her tears.

“You will always have a mom to go home to,”

\---

When Ashtoreth came into the house, she came in through the front door. She wore dark glasses and a curious ensemble of black fabric and shoes that sounded heavier than they looked. She looked at everyone as if they are nothing more than an unavoidable necessity to be dealt with; that is she looked down on everyone - even when sitting, she can look down at you. Or make you feel inferior in every way. 

That is the quality Thaddeus liked from the nanny thinking she’s put the same inferior feeling in his son and discipline him. Discipline was that man’s priority in his life. Second is following orders.

Harriet didn’t like that but liked the way Ashtoreth handled the child. She was cautious and revealed a certain softness that she may or may not admit melted her when she saw it. When Ashtoreth entered her room to freshen up before she could take care of the child, the new gardener showed up. 

The gardener entered through the back door. When brother Francis came, everyone liked him immediately. He was a gentleman but not overly that people are creeped out. He knew his space in the house and took that space, only reaching out when he needed to. Harriet liked him for that. She knew he would do his job well and not pry on things he isn’t privy. 

Thaddeus didn’t like that because a quiet man traded in secrets and secrets are weapons but he liked the way Francis frowned at the ‘unruly garden’ everyone would say is spotless. He appreciates a man of details and order. 

Francis and Ashtoreth gravitated towards Warlock easily. Everyone blamed it on how people their age easily feel parental towards infants.

-

When Warlock turned 4, He spent most of his time either in the nursery school or the garden. He was always occupied with the flowers Brother Francis planted; learning their names and colors and smell. He would draw them too! His nanny was good at drawing and she taught him to draw flowers.

Sometimes, they would spend the entire afternoon drawing and talking about school and brother Francis would join them on the blanket he has laid down for them with some tea and sandwiches. Sandwiches Warlock loved because sometimes they have flowers too.

“Sweetheart, you haven’t told us about school yet,” his Nanny said with a soft voice, hands busy sketching beside him. Once, Warlock’s parents were called to the school to sort out a problem but they couldn’t come so Nanny came with brother Francis. From then on, Nanny would ask him about certain people from his school.

“It's okay. Dale don’t talk to me no more - “

“Anymore,” Brother Francis quipped in.

“- anymore and Diane showed me her stickers.”

“Do we like the stickers?”

“I don’t know. They are pink. The boys says - “

“Said,”

“ - said pink is gay.” Ashtoreth frowned at that.

“Bubblegum is pink and boys seem to like that very much,” Francis spoke, grabbing a green pencil to put more leaves on Warlock’s little rose bush.

“I like bubblegum,” Warlock pouted and Nanny tapped his nose, magically producing pink bubblegum after.

“You can have all the bubblegum you want when you grow up, my great young Warlock,”

\---

When Warlock was 5, he began showing interest in animals. He had a million questions about everything he sees and Francis, always the indulger of these questions, would patiently answer while they both walked around the garden feeding pigeons and whatever stray animal they meet.

“Brother Francis, are ants pests?” Warlock asked, watching the line of ants working for food.

“Who told you that?”

“Nanny,” Warlock smiled and turned back to the ants.

“You see, young master, ants work hard their entire life. Just like people when they grow up. Like Ms. Ashtoreth. Are you calling Ms. Ashtoreth a pest?” Francis asked, wiping the boy’s hands after he went on and grabbed a pile of moist earth to dump on the line of ants.

“No,”

“Then, my dear, ants are not pests.”

Warlock felt bad about calling his nanny a pest accidentally so he went on to hug his nanny and apologized. 

“Whatever for, my boy?”

“I called you a pest earlier. Brother Francis said ants are not pests because they are hardworking and you are hardworking and I can’t call you a pest,”

“I know you would never call me a pest, my darling. But brother Francis on the other hand…” Ashtoreth raised a brow, looking at Warlock through her glasses before lifting them up to wink at him which made the child giggle at his ‘kitty’ eyes, raising his arms to be picked up so they can terrorize the poor gardener.

\---

Warlock loves going to the garden to ‘disturb’ the gardener. He knows the man is busy but he seems to always have the time to spend with him and his nanny and even have snacks and tea with them.

“My, my am I blessed this afternoon,” brother Francis smiled, tapping the tip of Warlock’s nose and smiling at the nanny who he knew rolled her eyes.

“We’re here to ‘disturb’ you, angel. I hardly call that being blessed,” Ashtoreth answered, passing young Warlock to Francis who complemented Warlock’s increasing weight. “And you know how I feel about ‘blessings’.”

“I know, Ms. Ashtoreth. But your presence in my garden brightens it up all the same,”

“Well, your garden knows better than to be disappointing in the presence of someone great. Isn’t that right, Warlock?” Ashtoreth turned to the little boy who only stared at her before nodding, going back to the gardener’s mustache, pulling it and combing it with his tiny fingers. It was a pleasant quietness with them talking about having tea set up in the garden when Warlock decided to hug the gardener to ask him if he loves his nanny.

“I suppose I do. Why did you ask?”

“Because I love nanny, brother Francis. And I know you love her too,” Warlock spoke, full of pride in his words, smiling his brightest in front of the blushing man.

“Well in that case,” Francis smiled and bounced the child in his arms.

\---

When Warlock was 6, three new maids arrived at their house: Ms. Grace, Mrs. Dorner, and Mrs. Thelma. 

Ms. Grace has always been the softest of the three - inside and out. She took delight in Warlock sweetly asking for treats past tea time and that sweet child just must have a cookie, Ms. Ashtoreth I’m sorry it won’t happen again.

She also had a huge crush on the gardener and, secretly, thought the governess despised her more because of it.

Mrs. Dorner was an independent one. Always on the move, it was around her that Warlock was hurt a lot. She would let the boy play and tell him to get up and just cry it out when he gets hurt. Of the three, brother Francis respected her most for this despite his disagreement with the method.

Mrs. Thelma just hated children not her own in general. When the governess said Warlock is not allowed in the kitchen, then Mrs. Thelma is there to guard the door. Even from Francis. Francis found her obedience to Ashtoreth admirable but the limitations on him disagreeable. 

Warlock grew up with them in the background. They enforced rules he must follow and taught him lessons and while growing up, he learned a lot through experience because of them.

“I like Ms. Grace,” Warlock smiled, nibbling on the cookie he got from the woman.

“You like Ms. Grace? That woman gives you things that are bad for your teeth!”

“But you like bad, right?”

“Yes, my darling, I like bad, but I can’t have her giving things that are bad for your teeth.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to rule the world with bad teeth. You have to have good teeth when you make people kneel in front of you,”

“Why?”

“Because a great ruler like yourself needs to be perfect.”

“Why?”

“Because greatness means perfection,”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Warlock. I’m not the great one between us. Why don’t you tell me why?”

“Uhm…” Warlock frowned and sipped from his little glass of water. “Because you said so?”

“Exactly. Now go brush your teeth then we’ll go ‘disturb’ brother Francis in the garden,”

\---

When Warlock was 8, he came into the gardener’s shed crying.

Brother Francis wasn’t there when he arrived but he stayed, sitting obediently on his chair. The shed wasn’t too big but it was big enough for two people to live in. Sometimes, he comes here with his nanny to have tea when his parents aren’t home.

“Young master? Are you alright?” He heard Francis ask, the man fussing with his gloves before sitting beside the boy, wrapping his arms around him when Warlock hugged his middle. “Did something happen?”

Warlock shook his head.

“You know Ms. Ashtoreth doesn't like liars, yes?” Francis prodded and Warlock began to sob in earnest, burying his face on his chest like it would hide him from the world.

“Mommy and Daddy are fighting. Nanny asked if she should go - I don’t want her to go, Brother Francis!”

\---

At 8 years old, his nanny almost went away but she didn’t because brother Francis was also going and Warlock threw a tantrum for the first time.

“What you did was not worthy of your greatness, Warlock,” Ashtoreth wiped the tears from the boy seated on her lap.

“I don’t care. You would’ve left me,”

“My boy, I would never leave you willingly. If I go, know that it’s with anger and sadness, alright?” Ashtoreth kissed the boy’s temple and Warlock tried to stop himself from bursting into new tears, thinking his nanny wouldn’t like it.

“I love you, nanny,” he whispered, hugging the woman tightly.

“And I, you, my great young boy,”

\---

When Warlock turned 10, too old for a nanny, too young to be left alone, Ashtoreth told him the truth that she’ll have to go away someday.

“Big boys don’t need nannies, darling,”

“But who will take care of me?”

“Your mom will.”

“She’s - you don’t have to go. You can be my assistant! Big boys need assistants, right? My dad needs assistants.”

“My boy, I am but a nanny. I change nappies and shape young things like you for greatness you are destined to. I am no assistant,”

Warlock frowned and remained quiet, holding back the anger and confusion he’s feeling.

When Warlock feels confused and he feels scared to ask his nanny, he runs to the shed in the garden. Warlock learned that it makes him feel better to have the gardener around.

“My, my, young dear. What happened?”

“Brother Francis, are you going away someday?” Warlock asked, not looking at the man but picking up his tools and starting to aimlessly disturb the earth. Brother Francis frowned, humming thoughtfully before gently prying the tools from the child.

“I imagine I am, my boy. I am getting old and I can’t have all of my remaining days here,”

“Why not?”

“Because people always need to move on. They may spend their years in one place but they move on and find their own place in the world.” Warlock frowned at that, not liking the answer.

“This can be your place. You don’t have to go away,”

“What brought this on, young one?”

“Nanny is going someday and - yeah. She’s going someday.”

“And so am I, little dear. And so are you, I believe,” Francis tapped his nose and it was met with a grunt but was forgotten immediately when the boy climbed on his lap to hug him like he used to do when he was smaller. Francis felt a pang of pain, remembering how fleeting human lives are and how it shouldn’t be dwelt in pain like his little boy is experiencing right now.

“I don’t want to move on, Brother Francis,” he sobbed on his shoulder and Francis couldn’t help but hug the child closer.

\---

At 10, Warlock learned to be quiet to listen. Most people call it eavesdropping but his nanny never really introduced that concept to him.

“I can’t - angel, what do I do?”

“You either tell him or you let the boy hate you for leavi -”

“Then what? Make him think his nanny is weak? I didn’t raise my boy to be weak.”

“My dear, you are aware he’s not - “

“I don’t care! I raised that child!”

At 10, his nanny left the house with brother Francis and Warlock thinks back about what he heard and wishes for his nanny to have shown him weakness instead. 

\---

When Warlock turned 12, he started hating school. The kids are boring, the teachers are too nice - or not nice at all - and everyone thinks they are better than everyone. He knew he was better than them but he didn't tell it. He knew greatness was shown and not spoken. Only fake great people do that.

\---

At 13, Warlock has been to two schools, say three counting his recent one, and his father an angry bundle of nerves around him.

“You are not stupid, Warlock. So what is happening?”

“I don’t know,”

“You don’t know - you don’t know?! You used to be in the advanced classes in your school and all of a sudden you’re failing tests left and right?”

“Shit happens.” Warlock shrugged.

“Warlock!” That was Harriet only reprimanding his language.

“Yeah, shit happens. You happened.”

That house was never quiet since that day.

\---

Warlock never really understood why he needed to make appearances in dinners with some heads of states. He can see through them - they are beneath him and if any, they are only making appearances to compare riches or achievements. These affairs are like when you bring a toy to class and show it off. What do you call those again?

“Show and tell,” Warlock looked up to see a man leaning against the railing of the yacht. They were out there to dine with some royalty and Warlock is bored. “You’ve been thinking way too loud, boy.”

“So what? The world won’t end if I say my thoughts,” he rolled his eyes and went back to scowling at the black sea in front of him.

“It can destroy empires, that. Thoughts and words go hand in hand like swords and horses or something. My point is: they are powerful and you should know, seeing you’re someone so full of yourself,” the man snorted before walking away, throwing the glass of champagne he was apparently holding. Warlock gave a small smile at that and nodded, somehow feeling warm after that exchange.

Warlock is a model child if you ask people around him - secretaries, assistants, guards, other politicians, even those politician’s children. Warlock is polite, nice, quiet, and witty. Most of the time they call him ‘just like his dad’ but Warlock sneers at that internally, thinking he never got anything from those two people who are called his ‘parents’. They never were.

Only the people at home know the truth if he’s being honest.

\---

Once at home, Warlock becomes detached. If you are determined enough, you’ll even forget he exists in that place. All of his things are in his room, neatly arranged in boxes and bags. As if he moved in and is about to move out. He never leaves anything outside and never brings any outside things in.

The maids learned a long time ago that if they try to fix his bed, the covers would be folded neatly outside the door the very next day. Even his curtains are brought out. He only lets them wash his clothes and he asks for nothing else. 

Mrs. Dorner does not like this but respects this all the same. She can understand rebellion when she sees one and all she can do is long for a certain red-haired woman who she knows can talk sense to everyone in the house - Oh how she longs for sense in that house. She even longs for simpler insensibilities for those are easier to manage. But that’s a part of the simpler times. 

\---

When Warlock turned 14, he decided to take his school seriously. He became the complete model child everyone believes him to be. His teachers were amazed at his sudden tenacity in school and some even suspected that the child is cheating, and so, Warlock is asked sometimes to take the test in a room in front of the teacher just to make sure he isn’t cheating. Of course, he isn’t cheating. He’s just good at math.

This lead to advanced classes and to offers of introductory lessons to a university of his choosing. He was smart, that boy, if he puts his mind to it. If he really wants to. But of course, he refused and said he’d rather go through the courses as other people do.

\---

In the eyes of the people who already admire him, that’s a show of great humility. For his father, it’s a waste of opportunity.

“You can attend the most prestigious university in this goddamned country and they would thank you and you’re turning it down?” Thaddeus asked, trying to go for calm but then he looks like he might pop a nerve if he does.

“I don’t really care,” Warlock answered, pulling his phone out of his pants to browse Facebook. This is one of the things he does now to annoy his father. Thaddeus can see right through it but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to throw the phone. He just won’t because that would mean Warlock won.

“You are carrying my name, Warlock. You are embarrassing me!”

“Well, strip me of my name then! Or yeah. I forgot. That would be a scandal,” Warlock smirked before going back to his room, slamming the door for emphasis. 

At 16, Warlock is eligible to enter the university so long as he passes their entrance exam.

\---

Warlock graduated high school that year since he doesn’t have any reason to stay in the school anymore. He has taken all the classes he is required to attend - thanks to his advanced classes and overtime study activities he does at home to complete requirements just so he doesn’t have to leave his room and talk to anybody - and completed credits he needs to submit. Staying would just be coming in to do nothing. One professor, Mr. Olivier, asked if he wants to intern for a professor he knows for a year. He refused and chose to graduate instead.

Of course, it reached his father - everything seems to do so - and he was asked why he refused that.

“I don’t know, Thaddeus. Why don’t you tell me since you seem to know everything about me?” Warlock answered, staring at his father.

“You are a waste of space. You are a waste as a human being. All these years I have been patient with you but all you ever do is be an ungrateful shit. I gave you everything a child can ever dream of. I gave you a good life - I gave you luxury people would die for. I did not raise you - “

“Damn straight you did not raise me, father! Sorry - Thaddeus. I was raised by strangers. It took a nanny to feed me and a gardener to help me stand. It took maids to teach me lessons that should’ve come from you. It took a butler to get me to the hospital when I was sick and on the verge of dying! If anyone in this house has any business saying those words to me, it’s them! You were never a father to me, Thaddeus. You are nothing but a walking wallet who happened to have a mouth - “

“Get out!”

\---

When Warlock turned 17, he left the Dowling household, leaving his mom in the care of the three people he trusts and hoped he wouldn't die the very next day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after Warlock ran away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late. It was supposed to be during the holidays but no. I had to be lazy.

Part 2: Revelations cafe

Warlock inhaled the fresh morning breeze and smiled, his face turned to the early rays of the sun that rarely happens in that country. Ever since Warlock could remember, England is a moist country with patches of sun that he used to think was summoned specifically by his nanny for him. He smiled fondly at the memory. 

Turning to reality, however, the fresh morning breeze is nothing but the damp concrete of English streets and the rays of sun, nothing but the bright light he was fortunate to buy off a sale from a closing hardware nearby. It was 4 in the morning and Warlock needs to get up and start work.

After Warlock left the Dowling household, he spent a couple of days staying in the cheapest rooms he can find - and believe him when he says what he used to consider cheap is fucking expensive now that he’s avoiding to spend money - and asking around if they need a helper here and there. He found his luck first in a butcher shop. It wasn’t really something he would choose but desperate time calls for desperate measure and he accepted the job delivering meat and learning how to slice a pig open. He may or may not have puked the first few months he was being trained by the surprisingly kind owner. 

The owner was a huge man in his forties. He looked older, however, due to the ‘fumes’ he said was affecting his skin but really, Warlock knows it’s because of the hard work. He remembers Mrs. Thelma telling him how the skin is the reflection of one’s life - how it was lived and how long. The butcher - Pat, he says to call him - looked like he lived a hard life. 

“I don’t know how you’re always up early, Arlo! I’ve been doing this my entire life and I still refuse to be awake before 5,” Warlock would hear the butcher say before enjoying his loud guffaw. He may be old and big, and sometimes snappy on customers who pretend to know more than him about meat but Pat is naturally a fatherly man, caring for everyone and not once showing he wants to take advantage of anything. 

Even the easiest ones to take advantage of.

“Pat, I know you are a great guy, a very nice man, even! But I am begging you to raise the price of your beef a little more. The slaughterhouse raised their price since the high demand for the exact meat you are getting and you’re not charging people - you are running a failing business!”

“Then all the more reason for me to maintain this price, don’t you think? People would come in and buy my meat because I sell cheap,”

“That’s good for getting more customers but you’ll have to balance the books!” Warlock, Arlo, now that he’s starting new, exclaimed.

“Don’t you worry about the business, boy. It’s all worked out.” Pat only smiled.

Warlock was a year into the butcher’s shop before he heard whispers of how the establishment was a front for dirty activities. He left the very next day, finding a job in a diner as a dishwasher. He knows better than to not trust whispers. His supposed father brought down people with whispers after all. 

His luck as a dishwasher was something he was thankful for. The restaurant he was employed in was quite famous in the neighborhood so they don’t have to maintain really late hours. That means Warlock comes into the shop at 5 in the morning for the inventory - staff in the restaurant are utilized to save money - leaves at around 8 - he does double shift since he really doesn’t have anything to do in his life right now - and the rest of his night his to do with. It wasn’t ideal to have such hours but he gets hour-long naps during his breaks and snatches of food provided by the restaurant when it’s a slow day. All in all, he just needs to mind the rent - above a small bakery a block away from his job - and clothes to wear since the dishwasher doesn’t get any uniform.

The flat Warlock got is cheap - and justifiably so. The flat can get really hot or really cold depending on the combination of his broken heater and the oven downstairs. The owner informed him of this the first time he asked for the space but beggars can’t be choosers so he grabbed it. The people downstairs, if he plays his cards right - a smile here, be polite there, lend a helping hand where he can and volunteer a couple of hours on his free days - gives him the leftover bread and would even allow him to come in the kitchen and teach him how to bake. The shop is owned by an old woman and her sons are the bakers. They immigrated from Spain, if he’s going by their last name, but the children have a posh accent so his bet is they are born in the country. They are quite loud sometimes - resorting to shouting words Warlock can only understand because of a Spanish class he had long ago. When the shouting starts, he keeps quiet and makes himself small. Playing his cards right, remember?

He was able to learn to bake a few kinds of bread and sometimes, he would goad the restaurant he’s working at to get bread from that bakeshop instead of getting from a bakeshop across town. Of course, that was not easy because the owner of the restaurant has been friends with that baker for quite some time now.

Well, not after some complaints from customers about stale, moldy, and even suspiciously soggy, bread that is.

Warlock receives a commission from the bread the restaurant is buying from the Navaros downstairs. The old woman was fairly delighted that they have a client and really, clients bring in good money for the bakery. Not long after, Warlock was able to get the heater fixed and was even able to buy a ceiling fan for those long hot nights.

His steady income from the bread started going to savings. Soon enough, Warlock was able to open an account - separated from the one his parents got for him, thank you very much - and you know how mothers are; Mrs. Navaro was so delighted that he was putting the money into good instead of spending it on things he doesn’t need that he started to get invited to their home for dinners. She said it’s so Warlock won’t have to spend his money on dinners and he can just save them up. After all, being alone, fending for yourself, is such a hard thing and she would never wish it on her children or other people.

Her children - they respect his determination to get by alone and made room for him in their dining table. They believe that no child should ever be alone when eating. 

\---

Of course, Warlock knew this gig wouldn’t last. The restaurant will close someday, and the bakery might even stop. He needed something more regular than his job now and that’s when he thought of going back to school. He can stay in his flat and get a scholarship. He can finish school and that would help him get something more stable. But his savings are not enough to get him through. He can work while studying, maybe take only one shift at the restaurant and spend the rest of his time studying. 

“Why don’t you get student aid? Isn’t that a thing for students?” Richard - Ricardo when his mom is mad - asked one time when he mentioned he wants to study again.

“That is out of the question. That is bad business. I’ll be old and wrinkly before I can ever pay that. No debts,” Warlock exclaimed, kneading the dough a little harsher than he should.

“Well, then what are you thinking? I would help you but you know how -”

“Hey, man. Don’t say that. You’re not obliged to help me. I made this decision myself so I have to see it through alone.” he smiled and went back to kneading. Richard would never admit how much he admires that pale lanky boy who has the pride of a hundred fathers.

\---

Warlock spent his second Christmas with the Navaros. He sent an email to his mom asking if he should come home from Christmas but she said they would be staying out of town with other government officials. When he received this response, he somehow felt relieved although he does miss his mom. If anything, he misses that woman for the way she treated him kindly after his fight with his father. She wasn’t exactly his mother but she was somehow a friend. 

So imagine the shock Warlock is in when he spent the holiday with the family who runs the bakery. 

“Arlo, mama is asking if you can take care of the pork? She’s too weak to be chopping that monstrosity,” John - Jose when Mama Navaro is feeling pissed - asked. Everyone knew that Warlock worked for the butcher who was arrested some time ago for illegal activities. And that he was pretty skilled with a cleaver. Don’t ask how. Or why.

“Sure! When did you pick the pig up?” Arlo asked, on his way to the kitchen from the living room. He didn’t want to disturb the commotion happening around him.

“This morning. Richard went to the slaughterhouse to - Arlo it’s a live p - you know what I’m done,” John sighed when he saw that Arlo was nowhere and wasn’t even listening to him.

One thing Warlock told himself to do is to let people finish. He has a habit of not letting people finish as soon as he hears the answer he’s looking for and that sometimes puts him in certain situations. 

Like the live pig on the back of the house. 

“Arlo, ijo, the uh, puerco? The - “ Mama Navaro winced, scratching the side of her head “The walking bacon - I kill, you -” she said, proceeding to make chopping motions. Warlock laughed and nodded at that and waited for the woman to finish.

It wasn’t that Warlock never celebrated Christmas - from where he’s from, Christmas is a big thing with garlands and socks and everything. There’s also a big dinner on Christmas but mostly, it’s done with other diplomats.

This big dinner though, was on the night of 24th and everyone was there - more people than Warlock would admit to knowing - and there are children! A lot of children!

Everyone seems to be drinking and eating and laughing and having fun and Warlock wanted to cry. He’s never seen people this happy.

“Arlo? Are you alright, mate?” Nathan - don’t ask, Mama Navaro will always have a different version when she’s mad - asked. He was seated in a corner watching everything unfurl.

“Me? Yeah. Of course. Just a little overwhelmed, I think,”

“Why? Don’t you celebrate Christmas?” Nathan frowned, looking around, trying to remember if Brits, or Americans at that, do not celebrate Christmas. Warlock chuckled and shook his head.

“We do. It’s just - different. It’s not bad different. Just - different. 

-

“Nanny, why do we have Christmas?” a young Warlock asked his nanny who was fussing over his red and green socks.

“Because humans decided to celebrate the birth of Jesus. He isn’t even born in December,’” Ashtoreth answered absent-mindedly, nodding on the red socks like he is agreeing with it.

“Why?”

“You’re the human here, Warlock. I should be asking you why humans celebrate Christmas,” Ashtoreth raised an eyebrow before smirking. Warlock was presented to the diplomats that night for the Christmas dinner. After he was done, he was taken by his nanny to the garden for a walk to ‘aid his digestion’ but really, they ended up on the gardener’s cottage.

“Father Francis, why do we have Christmas?” Warlock asked as he munched on some pastry filled with chocolate. Brother Francis never seems to run out of food in his cottage.

“Because, dear boy, we are celebrating the birth of Jesus,”

“Why?”

“Because he saved us from sin,”

“Does it apply to us?” Ashtoreth cut in flippantly.

“I don’t know, dear miss, but, Warlock, we celebrate Christmas as thanks for our salvation,” Francis smiled as he wiped the boy’s mouth.

“I don’t know Jesus. Why should I thank him?” Warlock mumbled and Ashtoreth laughed while Francis gave her a glare and a pout.

“Little one, you don’t know who cooks your food yet you eat them. It’s like that. You don’t know who saved you but you are saved so you thank them nonetheless,” Francis smiled.

-

After the celebrations and the kids are gearing up to go upstairs, Arlo volunteered to wash the dishes as thanks to the family that fed him that night. 

"Nonsense. You always wash the dishes in that restaurant. You go upstairs and find a spot to sleep," the old woman smiled, calling Nathan to help her dry the dishes. 

As he made his way upstairs, he noticed the pictures on the wall, arranged like a puzzle, all showing a family member smiling, or crying, but that aside, it all looked very happy. Snippets of moments from the past that would bring them joy. 

Arlo smiled. 

-

Warlock ran to his nanny before the photographer was even able to push the camera button. Mrs. Dowling frowned while Thaddeus grumbled, saying this is all a waste of precious work time.

"I don't want to take a picture, nanny! I want to go home!" the child said, face buried on the woman's neck

"Why not?" Ashtoreth asked, rubbing soothing patterns on the boy's back. 

"I'm tired. And the man scares me," he confessed, hugging the woman tighter. Ashtoreth nodded, looking at the camera man who was rolling his eyes, lips moving as if he's saying something under his breath.

"Maybe just one picture for today, okay? If you smile there, I will let you stay up tonight to play video games," Ashtoreth whispered. The small boy was quiet for some time before he went back to his mother and they took that picture. 

"Why do we need pictures?" Warlock asked his nanny.

"Because they are memories. We want to preserve memories and go back to them someday," 

"Why?" Warlock immediately countered as expected. 

"Why is peanut butter and jelly your favorite?" 

"Because I like them," 

"Why?" it was Ashtoreth's turn to ask. 

"Because it makes me happy," 

"Pictures are like that too. We take them because when we want to be happy, we can look at them and we feel happy," 

-

Warlock took out his wallet and looked at an old picture he has. 

"Why don't I feel happy, nanny?" 

Making his way upstairs, he saw how the rooms were brimming with life despite the hour; children were laughing, screaming, running around. The adults are trying hard to reign them back to bed but they also end up laughing, empty threats of mama punishing them or a ghost out to get them. 

"Found a space yet?" John asked beside him, startling Warlock. 

"Not really. But I can sleep on the floor," he smiled, avoiding a running child followed by one of the older ones. 

"That's absurd. You can sleep in my room. I only have the smallest ones and they are all asleep." John winked and Arlo smiled, shrugging, following him. True to his words, the kids were all asleep and they both had to tiptoe around small bodies to find a spot. It's on the floor but it didn't feel too harsh with all those tiny bodies. "Merry Christmas, Arlo," John whispered. 

"Merry Christmas, John," Warlock smiled, closing his eyes and going to sleep. 

  
  



End file.
